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For Mulder, Chicago proves to be an unlucky place.
Thanks to a system error, their motel reservation has been canceled. But the receptionist quickly reassures him: “Don’t worry, we still have one room left.”
One room – for the two of them. Mulder glances at Scully; their budding relationship has yet to take flight. They’re still in that early phase, tiptoeing around each other. In short: they haven’t had sex yet.
Neither of them wants it to happen on assignment – even if they closed the case. The last time they shared a room, and a bed, was a year ago in Kroner, Kansas. They had kept to their respective sides and everything had been civil. That had been before their kiss at New Year’s. Before the second and tenth kiss they’ve shared by now. Kissing is all they’ve done. Work always getting in the way of more.
And now said work is making them share a room.
“We don’t usually use this room,” the receptionist explains, pushing the door open wide. It’s easy to see why. “This is where we store our extra beds. Pick whichever one you like. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
“This is…something,” Mulder mumbles once they’re alone. The whole room looks as if someone’s played Tetris using real beds. There’s a narrow path from the door to the bathroom and that’s it. The rest is beds of various sizes.
“Well, at least we won’t have to worry about where to sleep.” Scully tosses her overnight bag onto one of the beds and squeezes past him to get to the bathroom. Mulder just stares at the plethora of sleeping places and can’t help but feel overwhelmed.
What are the odds of them getting stuck in one room with not one, but an abundance of beds? Somewhere someone is laughing, he’s sure of it. He closes his eyes and throws his bag; wherever it lands, he’ll sleep.
It’s just his luck that it lands on the bed farthest away from Scully’s.
*
Nine beds – yes, he counted – and not a single TV in this dreadful motel room. Mulder knows he should sleep. If for no other reason than it knocking him out until they can leave this place.
For a man who slept on his couch for years, a room full of beds resembles a nightmare. And the fact that Scully is in this room, too, but so far away that he can barely hear her breathe, is making him anxious.
He could have switched beds. Hell, he still could, but he wouldn’t want Scully to think he has any ulterior motives.
“Mulder, I can hear you think from here,” she says, surprising him. He was certain she was asleep already. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“Why aren’t you?”
“I asked you first.” He wishes he could see her. How can they be so close and yet so far away at the same time? He wonders what she’d say if he asked her to move closer.
“This room is creepy.”
“It’s not what I expected,” Scully acknowledges.
“How is your bed?” Mulder asks. “Comfy?”
“It’s nice enough.”
“Are you cold at all?”
“No,” she says and he can’t tell if he wants to hear disappointment in her voice or if it’s actually there.
“You’re not cold, you’re comfortable, so why are you awake?” Mulder hears shuffling from across the room. When Scully speaks next, it sounds closer than before.
“I was thinking about Henry Weems,” she says. “About cause and effect.”
“You’re having profound thoughts and here I am, counting the beds in this room, trying to calculate the distance between mine and yours.”
“Why?”
She may be the one with the degree in physics, but he’s certain her voice is even closer. Or maybe he’s imagining things again.
“Let me remind you that there are nine beds in this room,” Mulder says. “And somehow we ended up on opposite ends of the room. I’m sure the FBI will appreciate us keeping our distance.”
“I’m not.” It’s a whisper, but he hears it loud and clear because she’s right next to him. He blinks a few times, just to make sure she’s real and not a trick of his imagination.
“Hi,” he says with a smile.
“Hi.”
“Got lonely?”
“Yes,” she admits shyly. “I hope you don’t mind. I just wanted to be… closer.”
“Why would I mind?” he asks quietly, the darkness surrounding them making it easier to admit it.
“Like you said, there are nine beds. When they told us there was only one room, I thought… well, you can imagine what I thought.”
“So did I,” he says. “And I wasn’t sure what- what to make of it. We haven’t exactly done that yet.”
“We’re adults, Mulder.”
“Then why is it so difficult to talk about it?” He laughs gently.
“I’m glad there’s more than one bed.” He knows she’s right, but her admission feels like a needle prick to his heart – and his ego. “We’re not forced to share a bed,” she goes on and suddenly, she’s no longer in another bed at all. She’s in his. Snuggling against him like a cat. “We’re doing this because we want to.”
“What’s the FBI gonna say?” he murmurs into her hair, his eyes fluttering shut. He presses a warm kiss against her hairline.
“They’ll never know.” She shifts in his arms and starts kissing his jaw, his cheeks, and then, finally, his mouth. Will he ever not be amazed that they do this now? Will he ever get used to her intoxicating taste? He can’t imagine that he will. He can’t get enough of her.
“There were nine beds,” Mulder mumbles into her mouth, “and we kept a professional distance.”
“Of course we did,” Scully replies, deepening the kiss.
Mulder thinks that maybe his luck is about to change after all.